Tell Tale Hearts
by not for granted
Summary: A collection of interwoven Gothic fairy-tales. While spending a stormy night together, a mysterious widow and a wandering soldier-of-fortune pass the time telling stories; a selkie husband stolen from his bride by a pirate, a vampire seeking revenge on her faithless lover, the doomed romance between a demon and an angel, and an alchemist's mad attempts to save the woman he loves.
1. Prelude

Hello everyone, this is the first chapter of a four part anthology series. "Tell Tale Hearts" is my entry for the 2019 PJO/HoO BigBang collaboration on tumblr, with special thanks to artist **_ kaftos-is-demidead_****, and editors ****_ preciouschildrenofolympus_****and ****_ wisdom-walks-alone_******.****

Everyone waiting for my other works to be updated? I thank you for your continued patience. Please feel free to drop a review.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Percy Jackson & the Olympians".

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**Prelude**

The long, thin stretch of dirt road had turned to mud after a thunderstorm the night before, and fog had cloaked the land all through the day. Somewhere a raven gave a mournful, solitary caw, and it echoed through the countryside like the screech of a rusty, disused metal padlock.

Only one traveler along this lonely road was there to hear the noise, and though it was eerie enough to chill an ordinary man to his bones, this vagabond was made of sterner stuff. His worn boots and soldier's greatcoat served as a testament to that. He clearly had been traveling roads longer than he had been marching any campaign though; his boots were more faded grey than black and the coat was now a soft mauve, threadbare in places, rather than red as it began.

The name he went by was Frank. It wasn't his real name, but this wasn't the time or place to go by a foreign name. Besides, 'Frank' served him well enough, and his grandmother had once said to him 'a job doesn't care who does it so long as it's done well, and finished.'

He had a job to do now, if rumors were correct. If they were, (although he hoped they were not), at least he would have a place to rest his head and keep dry before storms came back. It would be a small comfort, but one he'd gladly take.

One he'd gladly take where the dogs wouldn't bark at him, where the rainwater wouldn't seep through his boots, where there wasn't lice in the pillow and maggots in the bread.

He knew, of course, that if he had to he could go a stretch longer, a few miles more had done it before. Forced marches, winding roads spent wandering, Frank had been hardened by past experiences so that he was almost as tough as the oak wood of his walking stick. You wouldn't know it by looking at him, with a baby fat face he hadn't yet outgrown, andshoulders that were broad but also rounded, giving the appearance of comfortable warmth and steady strength, more ox than tiger or bear.

As long as he had his mission, his duty, he knew he could continue on. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

He saw a rather dilapidated stone wall, about the same height as some of the more impressive fences made to keep out cattle. That was nearly two miles back, and while he had hoped that between the fences, the even pavement on the road, and the stone wall, there was a town close by, he wasn't nearly as optimistic now.

To his disbelief, amazement, and no small amount of relief, there was one structure visible alongside a hill. Frank was pretty sure it had been a groundskeeper's cottage or a shepherd's hut once upon a time. Now the building was a barely-erect-shrine to the ideals of ruination and mediocre architecture that had once plagued this land.

Still, it was a place to keep dry, and that wasn't something to take for granted. The mist had been heavy enough to dampen his outer coat, and the sky was promising a proper storm at any moment.

Of course he had the time to knock and make sure someone was home; desperation was no excuse to act like a thief, a lesson in courtesy his grandmother had instilled in him many years ago.

So he knocked. "Anybody in there?"

No answer.

"I'm hungry, tired, and it looks like it is about to rain. I'm truly sorry if I'm waking anyone up, I just want to come in and be dry for the night." He paused, then added, "I have some money to spare for the trouble."

Still no response from inside of the hut. The more he thought about it, the less likely he figured this to be anyone's home. Maybe a place to shear the sheep or store odd bits of farming tools in the summer, but certainly not the place where someone would live if they could afford to sneer at an offering of two coppers to rub together.

Frank was pleasantly surprised, but not overly so, when he found it wasn't locked. Of course if it had been, he would still have found a way to get in, he had too many years of wandering and just barely scraping by to not have picked up some clandestine skills, but he didn't plan on making them into a bad habit. Just as was suspected, it looked like an old store-shed, with hoes and an old scythe in the corner, and threadbare sacks that were probably used for holding everything from weeds to sheep shearings were folded none-too-neatly closer to the center. He gave the bundles a sharp, careful kick and a solitary field-mouse skittered out, indignant at being roused from its manor.

It wasn't half-bad, not at all, considering past places he had slept. He'd still make use of his coat as a blanket instead of chancing lice with those humps of sackcloth, though.

Judging by the low rumble of thunder from outside, he had just avoided the worst of a new storm in what had already been a dreary, blustery week of travel. Hopefully it wouldn't get so loud that he wouldn't be able to get some sleep. Frank had slept through cannon fire and musket shots, through typhoons and wolves' howling and lunatics screeching all throughout his travels without problem, but thunder? In this country? That always managed to wake him up.

That and bandits, of course. He always had a knack for waking up just as bandits were about to rob, murder, or otherwise torment him whenever he slept alongside a road, sometimes with a tent or sometimes beneath a tree bough, and once in a surprisingly comfortable, thankfully dry ditch. He wasn't worried about bandits now; he had taken precautions long ago. Precautions in his bag, a precaution in his coat that he kept loaded, and one last precaution he kept tucked in his boot and sharpened every other day.

Never hurt to be prepared. Another valuable lesson, wisdom that his grandmother instilled in him while she was still alive. It was why he was still alive too.

Yet, here he was, taken by surprise this very night. Was it by a wolf, or a very large dog that had wandered in against all odds? Or a bandit, with dagger drawn, ready to open his throat?

No, Frank found himself staring up from his pile of jacket and straw, facing a young woman with curly black hair tied back in a messy bun, a lace-trimmed shawl over her shoulders, and a very well polished musket pointed right at him. It gleamed even in faint light with the shine of Gabriel's own horn, and promised him just as certain doom.

If she wasn't looking ready to end his very life tonight, with a coolly dispassionate look in her otherwise arresting eyes, Frank would've even been halfway-close to smitten by her. She truly was a fetching young woman. Clean too, and, judging by the muscle going off in her cheek, grinding all her teeth as she took the time to decide what to do with him.

All these pointed to one possibility he'd stake his life on, most probably…. "I take it you own the land that this nice little cottage is on?"

"It's a shack," she said, not disdainfully but matter-of-factly. "We haven't had any goats in years, so no need to keep this for the ewes."

"They'd have this all to themselves?" said Frank, keeping his tone as jovial as he could with the threat of gunfire at close quarters. "By grace, that's a palace for a goat."

"Only when they're about to give birth," she corrected, not patiently but again very matter-of-factly. She nodded, gesturing with her head rather than pointing with her gun, no, that she kept level with him the entire time. "Usually on that straw, I believe."

"Ah." He looked back to his jacket, laying atop that pile of straw. He knew that it of course had been through worse, but still. "I'll have to find some means to clean that…"

"That would be for the best," said the woman with the gun, with the authority that came from experience and a firearm one knew how to use. "And you must have either supposed that this was abandoned or that the property was owned by extremely tolerant masters."

"Is that so?" Frank asked, not trusting himself to behave if her finger got any closer to that trigger. She maintained good discipline whilst talking to him though, so that was at once a relief and worry; she didn't think him a threat, or maybe she was very confident in her ability. In this space, even if she normally couldn't hit the water if she fell out of a boat (which he doubted), she'd be able to put holes in him as soon as she pulled that trigger.

"Well, here you are cold and dirty," she remarked, and after a moment of heavy consideration she shouldered her weapon. "I suppose you've the traveler trinity of hungry as well?"

"And lonely," Frank added after a moment to collect himself. "But I wouldn't dare ask you to help me there."

"Not while I'm armed, I'm sure," the woman drawled.

"I'd ask your name first as well," Frank insisted. "What is your name, gentle… rifle-woman?"

He had expected the disapproval and reluctance far more than he had expected any answer, so it surprised him when she finally said, "Hazel… Hazel Dare."

"Hazel," he said, testing the name on his tongue. "That's a good name."

"It was a gift," she said without missing a beat. "Stand up. Slowly. And when you're on your feet, if I could have your name, trespasser?"

"Frank," he nodded. He gave a clumsy, sweeping bow, which gave him an opportunity to pick up his coat. "Son of Nobody-in-Particular, of the House Nowhere-in-Particular."

He thought he saw the start of a smile on her face, but he more than likely was just imagining that. "Well, Frank is an honest enough name."

"Thank you, I came by it honestly," Frank said, with another bow to hide his smile.

"Tell me honestly," she said, and now he was sure he wasn't imagining a faint ghost of a smile, "are you hungry?"

He was, and wasn't afraid to tell her so. And after getting a musket pointed at his chest, he wasn't nearly so afraid as to follow her to her master's manor.


	2. The Maiden and the Selkie (pt 1)

New chapter, once again thanks to everyone who has followed and please feel free to leave a review. Whole story will be posted in intervals over this weekend!

Disclaimer: I don't own "Percy Jackson & the Olympians".

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**The Maiden & Selkie (part 1**)

At the manor, soldier and widow arrived. His boots were left at the front door in the parlor, almost invisible in a dingy corner that seemed reserved for filth and cast asides, and his coat she took without fuss or preamble, assuring him she'd see it cleaned and sewn back to pristine quality with confidence and poise that impressed him no small amount.

She was an impressive woman, this Hazel. Along the way they conversed, and she was far more pleasant without a firearm pointed at him. Lonely, and she had been since her husband passed away, she said that much with practiced stoicism and mastered grief. When he saw the state of her master's house, there was more unbridled emotion, if only for a brief moment that she quickly withdrew from him, as if afraid he'd pounce on her show of vulnerability.

"I know it does not seem like much to look upon now," she said, struggling to keep her tone of voice only mildly defensive, "but there was a time where this manor house was the jewel of the county."

"I don't doubt it," Frank said, and he tried his very best to hide any doubt that might've crept in that neutral statement. After all, he didn't doubt that at one point in history this frightful ruin was a gorgeous piece of architecture, but that must've (by his relatively unlearned estimate) been close to half-a-century ago.

Still the rooms he was allowed in were more than serviceable. Recent disrepairs and frightful damage done made him suspect a fire had broken out at one point across one wing, though it was only visible from outside by a slightly concave-roof, like the manor had been partially deflated. The guest portions of the house were in fine working order, no doubt due to an impressive caretaker like Mrs. Hazel Dare maintaining the premises. He worried about her though, and said as much over a small repast of cold cut meat, hard cheeses, and bread lightly toasted by the fireplace.

"You haven't eaten," he remarked to her, "and you've left me the best bed in this house, I'm sure."

"It's a couch," she said patiently, "and it is too late for me to eat, or drink."

"I can't begin to thank you enough," he insisted. "I just don't know how you'll be able to sleep on an empty stomach." Privately he also was dubious about her sleeping in the damaged wing of the house, and wondered if repairs had been made to satisfaction. By the looks of what he managed to glimpse before being escorted to the guest quarters, he feared for anyone who slept there while this storm was brewing. All that it would take now would be a stroke of lightning, a particularly heavy rainfall, or even an especially violent thundercrack to frighten the damaged beams into fully collapsing.

As if he had given new life to the storm by his imagining, a roar of thunder rocked the outside sky and rattled the windows. Used to canonfire, he didn't flinch, and to his deepest respect neither did Hazel. 'Nerves of steel on this woman,' he marveled.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, that turn of phrase seemed somewhat sinister.

"I think my only problem will be that storm keeping me up," she admitted after the thunder quieted the echoes had left faint sound of creaking throughout the house.

"I'm sure we could find a way to pass the time," Frank said, hoping his suggestion was taken more innocently than it sounded. Almost immediately he had realized how much that was asking a stranger, especially a woman living alone.

True to his fears, and to his embarrassment, Hazel's eyes went flinty. "You forget yourself, sir-"

"A ghost story, maybe?" Frank said, quickly. It worked well enough to get her to pause in her admonition.

"Not what I guessed you had in mind," she admitted, only the tiniest bit apologetic.

"I have no idea what you think I could have meant," Frank said with good humor. "Shall I go first or should you?"

That took her off guard. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sure you have a story to share," Frank said encouragingly. "Unless you're afraid you'll scare me. I appreciate your thoughtfulness if that's the case, truly I do."

"You don't strike me as a man who scares easily," said Hazel.

"You don't strike me as a woman who is particularly unimaginative," Frank countered. "If I go first, you'll have to tell me at least one story."

"If you go first, I'll have to warn you," she said gravely, "I'm not sure any of the stories I know have a happy ending. I've outgrown them."

Frank forced a smile, and hoped it seemed sincere. "Then that can be our recurring theme..."

* * *

_Along the coast, there was a lighthouse, and keeping the lighthouse was a beautiful maiden._

_She was of noble birth, but more importantly, she was of noble worth. Blonde and tanned from her time spent by the shore, lithe and intelligent, and born from a learned clergyman and a wealthy, pious heiress; she had many suitors pursuing her years and years, but all of them were disappointed as she chose instead to retreat from the world and focus on her learning. Hers was a life of discipline and enlightenment, and maintaining the lighthouse was the epitome of her mission. She often went into town to purchase books, and soon anyone traveling up the spiralling staircases of the tower would see, laid like brickwork along the walls, shelves upon shelves of tomes and script._

_"When I first came to this coast," said Annabeth, "it was a wreck-attracting wreck. But my design will weather any storm, my renovations will last through the ages, and soon the greatest minds from every nation will see my lighthouse as they safely go from port to port, and know my genius. I should even think that one day I might be given the chance to build a new Alexandria here, in this provincial backwater. Then I'd be content."_

_But she was not content. She was overly proud and increasingly disheartened by the lack of satisfaction found in her treasure trove of literature, and the lack of attention paid to her gloriously reconstructed lighthouse. And bitterness and sour contempt for the rest of the would coloured her humor and for the rest of her days she was content to only ever seek her own self improvement in her self-imposed isolation._

_"Hang all the rest," said Annabeth, haughty and embittered, heart locked in her chest behind ice-cold iron clasps, and from there she never expected love to unlock her binds._

_And such would have been her life, such as it was, and she'd have been coldly content with her superiority and solitude. But it wasn't meant to be._

"Well, why not?" asked Hazel.

"Try to be patient, I'm getting to that," answered Frank.

_In those days, magic wasn't as fearful of human progress, or as knowledgeable. If powers of the faerie had been more aware of what might become of their strongholds and footholds on the mortal world with humanity left unchecked, there would have been consequences. Countless children with brains dashed in their cradles, no safety for lovers walking under moonlit skies, no, not merely such paltry acts, they'd have been compelled to declare war. But they were uncaring and arrogant, so humans were left to their own devices. None of the magical creatures were wise enough, or cynical enough, to guess human devices would be built to their ruination._

_So one of their number, a selkie, was unaware of the newly constructed lighthouse. And when he saw the light gleaming from on high when he swam about the white-topped waves, he knew he had to learn more, no matter the risk._

_That was when he swam ashore, floundering in the waves, and shed his seal-coat to reveal a comely human form; a muscular and tanned maiden's fantasy, ropy black hair down past his shoulders, and green eyes as vibrant and dangerous as the ocean before the storm._

_He hid his seal-coat in a nearby cove, and stalked up onto the beach, lupine in his movements; he had forgotten the movements of man for he had been at home in the water for so long. All the same, he was finely formed and proportioned. When he saw the base of the tower, his green eyes were alit with awe for what mortal man had wrought._

_"How long have we been under the sea to miss what these short-lived air-gulpers had built on our front doors?" Perseus wondered. "How much more could they have accomplished with but a fraction of our magic? No, someone living here must've been privy to our magic once, someone must have stolen some of our secrets and used them to make this… monstrous house. I have to do something… I will find the wizard who stole from my people, and built this eyesore."_

_So he waited for the lighthouse keeper to leave the tower so that he might ambush this 'wizard', after making an effort to hide himself in the high-grown grass and ivy about the tower's base. Now, the lighthouse keeper was a practical woman, and very observant once her head was pried from books, scrolls, and charts. She was also very, very formidable when roused. She had dealt with close-minded villagers, scorned suitors, and jealous, malicious peers before. So when she noted an intruder outside the door to her citadel of enlightenment, her manse of the mastery of the mind, she assumed there was some mischief set to be done on her now._

_Ordinarily, she would have just checked the locks on the door to the lighthouse entrance and boarded up the windows, let the little pests and busybodies wear themselves out. Any petty acts of vandalism they were responsible for, she'd clean up. If they weren't smart, they'd be in the poison-ivy patches._

_Maybe it was just a slow, unsatisfactory day this time though. Maybeshe wasn't able to so easily shake off the feeling that this time would be different, if she took the opportunity to look outside at this latest banal distraction. This time would be different, she decided, and she armed herself and slinked out to behind the front door, and wasn't disappointed._

_Because sure enough, something was very different this time._

_"You're naked," she blurted, holding her musket-_

"Hmm, no," said Hazel.

"What?" said Frank.

"Not a musket," Hazel said, "that doesn't sound like a fairytale romance."

"It worked for you and me," Frank pointed out, trying to be as charming as possible.

"We're not in love at first sight-" Hazel pointed out matter-of-factly, a bit of exasperation.

"Neither were they," Frank said, "and you'll figure that out if you let me finish-"

"-and you weren't naked." Hazel finished as if he hadn't dared to interrupt her.

"Neither were you," Frank said, "but I won't hold that against you."

Hazel gave him a chilly look that told him plainly that she didn't think that was very amusing, no not very funny at all. "Your fairytale?"

"It's not a fairytale," Frank insisted, "it has a very dark ending, very unhappy."

Hazel nodded. "Good. Those ones are most authentic."

_"You're naked," Annabeth blurted, almost loosening a hold on her bow._

_The selkie, Perseus, wasn't prepared to be caught so unaware, trying to sink lower in the brush. This didn't look like the wizards his parents warned him about, no sir, not at all. "I have a coat," he said, petulant at getting caught. "I'm just not wearing it now."_

_"T-that's what I meant by 'naked'," Annabeth stammered, and hated herself for it. She drew back the bow with deliberate strength and aimed contemptuously. "I don't know you, or who you think you are, but whatever game you're playing, whatever you were thinking was going to happen, it isn't. I should have the law on you, I should make you into a pincushion. I wouldn't be able to miss a dragonfly at this distance, but I still don't have to kill you yet."_

_"What sort of sorceress are you?" Perseus demanded, offended and bewildered at this turn of events. No mortal warlock was so direct, wrapped up in their own arcane cleverness as they were, and here was this beauty pointing a weapon of war at him! He felt rather betrayed, on top of foolish for being so easily caught, by this subversion of all he had been taught to expect from these philosophizing medicine-men of the land._

_"Excuse me? 'Sorceress'?" That was a new claim. Annabethhad ignored most ugly rumors that had been spread about her, ranging from unnatural inclinations to depraved experiments, but they had always stopped short of actual accusations of witchcraft._

_"That's what I said," Perseus declared stubbornly. Even when his life was at stake, he would not dishonor his kin by begging for his life from a land-dwelling harridan. Even if she did have hair like the sun just breaking over the first dawn horizon over tranquil lagoon waters and a body that a shapeless shift couldn't disguise… but he worked hard not to get lost in such thoughts. Or in her eyes, like a restless storm-_

_"Oh now I understand," said Annabeth, feeling a stab of relief. And truly, she did. Afterall, he was clearly just a lunatic, not someone from the village who would be believed, let alone someone who could stir up a mob or whose accusations could bring her to court on trumped up charges. "You poor, deluded man."_

_"No deluge here yet, you poor excuse for a harpy," Perseus boasted. "But just wait, my kinsmen will come and storm this beach and tear down this tower back to the sea! I'll keep my conch shells in it, and grow coral around the base for as far as the eye can see-"_

_"You are standing in a patch of poison ivy," Annabeth said. "And seeing how you are completely naked, I don't imagine you'll be so smug." Although she had to admit, naked as he was and from what she could see, he had every right to be overconfident. Mhmm… definitely not from the village with all the other peons. No no, she'd had to focus. Wasn't different from anatomy books, not really. And the psychology behind finding a taut, lean, swimmer's body was purely animalistic, primal urges brought on by conditioning. Nothing discipline couldn't overcome._

_"I am not crazy," he were equally stubborn (and in denial). "I… did you say 'poison'?"_

_"Yes," she nodded. "Poison ivy. It grows along the walls. I have been meaning to take it down," she mused thoughtfully, "but now I'm beginning to see some appeal in keeping it up as a security precaution for any prowler who might come out from the villages to climb through my windows-"_

_"I wasn't trying to climb through your win-domes," retorted Perseus. "I was waiting for an… evil wizard to emerge so I could cut his throat from ear-to-ear, not some siren with a bow and arrows and and… and poison on the walls! What cure is there? Speak you harpy!"_

_"Uh huh, 'harridan', 'harpy', I'm sorry," said Annabeth. "Those are some new ones. I usually get called bitch or snob, sometimes snobby bitch." Privately she was a little pleased with the 'siren' comparison, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom. That he was using such terms, and his strange manner of speech, how he held himself, it became quite apparent to her that "you really aren't from around here, are you?"_

_"No," Perseus said, evasively and with a bit of nerves creeping in. "I told you I wasn't. Stop pestering me and get back to the part where I'm poisoned?! Is there a cure?!"_

_"For poison ivy?" Annabeth asked._

_"Yes!" He was starting to sweat now. "I can pay you in either gold or pearls. Whichever you find more practical, I can send for it, just please cure me of whatever evil you've placed on this house! And now on me!"_

_"The poison ivy," Annabeth repeated, nonplussed. "Alright this…" Now, she knew it was mildly scandalous. If anyone in the village saw this scene, she'd be branded some manner of harlot or trollop or something to that effect. She also didn't care a fig for what those imbecilic inbreds off the coast thought of her, and this confused man was clearly not in his right state of mind and no harm to her. He'd be more likely to walk off a cliff or get the dogs set upon him in the village, and she gave a fig about that. More than a fig, it was startling how much that would bother her. "Cover yourself and come in, there's an ointment I've concocted."_

_"With magick?" asked Perseus._

_"Of course," Annabeth humored him. "With my 'magicksss."_

_Neither of them thought this would be the start of love, but such was the case. With him in a tub, smearing sharp-scented lotion on his rashes, and her chiding him for supposing a woman living alone was a witch, which led to his insistence that he knew the difference between a witch and a wizard and a sorcerer. And all that led to her asking questions about how he knew so much about magic…_

_And there was magic, back then, in that time and in that place. It was a time very much like ours, but they still remembered the days of magic, the select few old enough. Sometimes that magic was as simple as two people who had no business even meeting face-to-face falling in love over a chance encounter. Some were by far more sinister_

_But off the coast of little known country, or maybe a barbarous island in some eighth sea, there was a disaster as sure as dark clouds on the horizon for both of these strange lovers._

_A pirate queen and her immeasurably cruel crew._

At his Hazel had to interrupt again. "How did she become queen of pirates?"

"It's not her story," Frank said firmly, "that's another tale."

"Don't you try that," warned Hazel. "You'll only get the one night to stay here now."

"Maybe if you'll tell me a story of your own..?" Frank said, trailing off. There was a flash of lightning from outside to briefly light his hopeful expression.

The storm wasn't letting up, and Hazel took that into consideration before she'd agree to participate in any exchange of spooky stories. "... very well, but this is most coercive."

That seemed good enough for Frank, at least for the time. "Thank you."

_How she became queen undisputed, respected and saluted by some of the most heartless, faithless men ever to sail upon the cold ocean waves?_

_Two reasons; one was secrets that she knew, that known other could match. Magic was a rarity, their crew only had the one soothsayer and he was a charlatan half the time. But no, she was raised by a witch, and knew some very important secrets. She knew that there was a world below, and she'd not rest until she plundered the kingdom's beneath the waves just as she plundered every kingdom and country on every coast, no matter what colors they flew or what fealty they swore. And second, she was more ruthless than any man to sail beneath her flag (which happened to be two dogs tearing at a skeleton)._

Hazel nodded approvingly. "That's a good sigil. Fearsome."

"Thank you," said Frank, though more reluctantly. "Wish I had thought of it. Where was I..? Oh yes-"

_-a rattling last breath before a wretch's death._

_"This is mine," said Reyna to the dying man as he moaned, jingling his cut coin purse. "All bounty, all plunder from every raid is mine to distribute as I see fit. You do not steal from me."_

_He promised with his eyes clouding over that he wouldn't. But the warning wasn't for him anymore, but the rest of the crew who watched with muted horror._

_Reyna pulled her scimitar from the dying man's chest cavity with a flourish of the wrist that opened a wound that spilled his guts cleanly out on her ship's deck._

_"Octavian?" said Reyna, pirate-queen. "See to the guts. Michael? See to his family."_

_"For compensation?" said Mike Kahale, a burly bosun. He was watching the business of one of his old crewmates exsanguinate on the deck, and wondering if he'd be next, and if the wood would stain._

_"For finishing what's started," Reyna clarified. "I'm not going to spend my life waiting for Bryce's family to start a blood feud. If it's on your conscience, by all means, you can tell them how sorry you are for their loss. Then do your job."_

_"Ay captain," said Mike, nodding obediently. He moved aside for Octavian, a skinny, unpleasant looking man dressed like a city beggar in swaths of cloth, or like a shaman from more ancient times. His hands were terribly clean and pale, and it was with reluctance he sullied them, rifling through organs spilled on wooden deck._

_"I've exhausted my patience for crew disappointing or betraying me, Octavian," Reyna warned in a level tone as she finished cleaning blood and gore off her blade. "Something we can use this time."_

_"I won't fail you this time Captain," Octavian promised, wincing. He only had so many fingers left, and she had taken an ear. If he was wrong now, she'd take both eyes from him, see if there was some truth in the classical depictions of blind seers having greater accuracy when predicting the future._

_"I wait with baited breath," said Reyna. "Sharpening my blade."_

_Octavian shuddered, partially in disgust as well as in abject terror of what could be done to him should he fail his captain. The visceral was still warm, almost too hot to the touch. There was something in that, something he was being told that might save his skin... what was left of it._

_"Fire," he said, affecting his voice into a trance-like state._

_That was enough to get the attention of the rest of the crew. Most of them had been busy avoiding the captain's eye, haphazardly doing work on riggings it loading up bounties, but now they stopped and stared unabashed as their seer did his work._

_Having an audience did wonders for his confidence, and with this boost to his ego there was an equal increase in his theatrics. "We sail until we see a fire, then we see... heads of gold, eyes of the sea, along the coast..." A pause, and he traced along the pool of blood, thin and pale fingertip painting a new pattern. "This coastline, and there you'll find a key to the kingdoms of the seas, deep beneath the waves."_

_After a dreadful, tense pause where the crew waited for Reyna's reaction, she called "maps!" and was obeyed with haste. After a cursory search over the various parchments, there was found a coastline that seemed an almost exact mirror of the ghoulish scribble on the deck... that was enough for their captain. "Hoist anchor!"_

_They cheered at the prospect of new plunder, regardless of what they personally believed of their captain's mad schemes and obsession with magic kingdoms. And as they scrambled about, Reyna stood in the center as calmly as a queen holding court, the eye in the center of the storm. Absently she brushed fingers against a locket around her neck, swearing at last she'd finish what her sister had started..._

_That was far off and away though, and two unlikely friends from two worlds meant to stay separate were too busy in one another's company to even consider conspiracies beyond the village adjacent to the lighthouse. Thoughts of pirates leagues away wishing them harm? Lunacy, ludicrous, and neither would want to waste time with such undeserved paranoia._

_"You know these people will talk," Annabeth said to Perseus, walking beside him on their way to the village. "Don't you?"_

_"What would they say?" He was remarkably unconcerned now. Prior to this little outing, he had been panicked at the thought of being brought to the village, where trees would obscure his sight of the shoreline, even accusing her of dragging him off to be 'a freak to show to her cohorts'. It took choice words from Annabeth to get him to understand that not only did no one talked like that, but under no circumstances were any of these people her 'cohorts'._

_Whatever his previous accusations and misgivings, he had no problem being on her arm now. Quite strange, that development._

_And quite strange how she, a notoriously independent, bordering upon shewish, young woman was more often than not leaning into him as they walked to and from the village._

"Oh, I don't think it's strange at all," said Hazel, with a knowing grin.

"They are rather obvious about it," Frank said with a faint smile of his own. "Aren't they?" He couldn't pretend to be perfectly happy though, since he knew how the story ended...


	3. The Maiden and the Selkie (pt 2)

Disclaimer: I don't own "Percy Jackson & the Olympians".

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_Now, Annabeth has always flouted convention, but having a strange man on her arm, wearing her clothes (thankfully she flouted convention enough to pass some of her coats and trousers off as men's apparel), that was a step towards the scandalous she hadn't taken before._

_She wasn't that upset about it. No particular reason why, though it might have had something to do with the look on that bitch at the tailor-shop's face when she came in with Perseus on her arm. Or the look on all those provincial cows' faces, like they were trying to set her face on fire with a look. Or the way all the slovenly men (if such could be termed 'men') and there roving, loudmouthed brats all shrunk a distance back with nary a catcall or jeer when they were on the receiving end of a distinctly haughty, lethal look that Perseus threw their way._

_Annabeth always flouted convention, and never gave a solitary damn about the latest fashions, and she'd laugh contemptuously in your face and suggest a prolonged stay at the asylum of your choice if you were to tell her she'd be so smitten with a boy that she'd keep him around just to play dress-up… And yet, she found it all the more important to provide for her new guest all the trappings for the seasons, various social occasions, and delighted in the chance to see him in new clothes. Soon enough she could tell the differences, the distinct appeal, in coats of different buttons, the various uses of vests and scarves to call attention to angular masculine physiques, and the different 'seasons' that made up distinct fashions. As it turned out, despite his natural tanned skin and sea-green eyes, Perseus was more of a spring than summer, with softer tans and mild yellows and sky blue to bring out his best features._

_She was buying a lot more clothes in spring colors, coincidentally._

_"Which coat is your favorite?" she asked him one day as they were preparing for a sojourn into town._

_"Don't bother with any," he said immediately, "you wear too many clothes as it is."_

_It was meant to be an impudent little dig at her society's ridiculous fashions and expectations, but it came out all too suggestive and improper. He can't bring himself to regret it too much, she blushes so prettily even as she maintains her thoughtful and outwardly unruffled expression._

_"I meant from your coats," she said in a disapproving tone. "Should my father ever visit I'll have a great deal of explaining to do, and you looking your very best should," she thought about it and decided "not help at all actually, but it's the principle of the matter, really."_

_"I have a coat," he said. "Nicer than any that you bought me."_

_Annabeth scoffed. "If that's true, I've yet to see it."_

_In a hesitant tone, Perseus asked her "Would you like to see it?"_

_Now, under normal circumstances, a young woman like Annabeth would be far more suspicious when a young man offered to take her to the cliffs just above the shoreline, especially one who she first met when he was naked and talking nonsense about being from under the sea. But she had been thoroughly charmed for weeks, and her curiosity had been gradually fed over and over by the stories he had been telling her about undersea castles and the messy politics of the marine fae; that's what they were called, apparently, 'marine fae'. There were dozens of subspecies and subcultures, affiliations of these 'other people', this 'Third Race', whatever that meant. Annabeth was not going to let the opportunity to get some answers about these delusions that the stranger who tried to sneak into her life and unknowingly stole her heart seemed to think were history._

_Maybe she expected it to be a ruse to try to get her out of her clothes, and it would have been a pretty good ploy, all things considered; the sun setting and the orange and russet red waters were decidedly romantic. If he pressed the issue too hastily, she had a knife in the folds of her dress, a cosh in the pocket of her jacket. Even if Perseus was bigger than her, she found it hard to be afraid of someone who she saw naked, all in hysterics over poison-ivy rash. So she played along, and decided to fake surprise as best she could if he did have something to show her._

_Only thing was, she didn't have to fake being surprised. "What is this, sharkskin?"_

_"Sealskin," Perseus corrected, defensively. "It's my sealskin. Be careful."_

_"I'll be very careful not to scratch your coat," Annabeth teased, kneeling to get a closer look. Inspecting the thing, as it was in it's little cove in a small nest made of seaweed and seashells, she found it didn't look like much of any sort of coat she had ever seen before. No toggles, latches, laces, buttons, or buckles of any sort. But it was cured, somehow, so perfectly that it still looked fresh and (dare she say?) alive in its neat little bundle._

_She couldn't even make out any stitching, and she touched to try to see if maybe she could feel out any subtle needlework, only to nearly jump out of her skin when Perseus made a noise halfway between a yelp and a moan. "What was that?"_

_"Nothing," he coughed, face bright red. "Just be careful."_

_"Do you really want me touching this?" asked Annabeth._

_"As long as you're careful," he said, just slightly hesitant. "Go ahead."_

_"Carefully," she nodded. It was larger than she expected, and when folded it out the whole way she was amazed it was as long as a man and about as wide, maybe wider by half. Perseus had bundled it up very neatly. Was like someone had opened up a seal like a deboned fish, but she still couldn't find any trace of violence, it appeared more like the bloodlessly shed skin of a snake. Her frustrations got away from her, with this puzzle she couldn't solve, and she did in fact dig nails a little more sharply than intended into the sleek skin._

_"Ow."_

_None of her sciences and philosophies prepared her for that. "I am…"_

_"Amazed?" Percy guessed. "Astounded? Impressed beyond belief?"_

_"Sorry I hurt you," she finished. Though after she looked over the sealskin and his admittedly minor injury. "Beyond belief just begins to do some justice to what I'm feeling right now…"_

_"Yes I was afraid of that," he admitted. "It's all true. The undersea palaces, the massive family of nymphs and monstrous cousins, the dancing that makes the waves and the songs that summon the storms. I understand if you-"_

_"Can I borrow this?" She said, almost oblivious to his worries._

_Of all her questions, that was one that he hadn't been prepared for, and it caught him completely off-guard. "Excuse me?"_

_"If I'm right, this should have some very interesting reactions to sea-water," she reasoned. "And if I could study this in a tub, with some salt and see different temperatures' effects on-"_

_"Please don't boil my skin," Perseus objected._

_"Oh relax Percy," she scoffed. "I'm not going to try to make soup or stew out of this… You know me, I'm hopeless cooking."_

_"Say that again?" Perseus insisted, serious._

_"Once was enough thank you," Annabeth snipped back. "And just for that, you can bet you're cooking tonight mister-"_

_"Not that," he interrupted. "What you called me?"_

_"I'm pretty sure I said 'sea-weed for brains'," said Annabeth, turning up her nose._

_"I heard 'Percy'," he insisted. "That's what you said, isn't it?"_

_"Well calling you 'Perseus' is a little formal," Annabeth reasoned, refusing to seem self-conscious. "And if we're being honest, very stuffy name."_

_"No I like it," said… well, Percy with a smile. "Thank you."_

_"Don't mention it, really," she demurred, looking away and blushing. Not that she'd ever admit that to anyone. She had a reputation to uphold._

_Percy considered telling her that under the seas, in the rare event a fae of his breeding dared give up his skin-coat to a mortal, it was either in an act of shameful surrender, or an offer of marriage. In the shimmering coral cities of long-lived naiads and selkies, nymphs and sea-monsters, there was little difference seen between the two._

_He would tell her later. Right now, all he told her was "As you wish, Wizard Girl."_

_"Not a wizard," she insisted. "Just not a fool like the rest of the... mortals on the mainland."_

_"Then as you wish, o' wise girl."_

_And for a time, they were happy._

_The beautiful lighthouse keeper did introduce the stranger from the sea to her family, and he was accepted much more quickly by the learned gentry than by the provincial villagers. Even those townspeople started to come around, arguably growing to like him more than they had ever liked the proud-to-the-point-of-haughty lighthouse keeper._

_One day, between experiments and research, he had the courage to tell her the real significance of letting a mortal keep his sealskin._

_"I never thought I'd get married," she admitted, forcing her voice to stay calm, just stating the facts. "It never was something I thought I wanted."_

_"And it doesn't have to be," Percy assured, heart dropping like an anchor. "Just a stupid sort of tradition, or ritual that my people don't even like, it just I mean, it happens to be-"_

_"Shut up and love me," Annabeth insisted, pulling him in. "Husband."_

_Much to his surprise and joy, she had found out weeks before in her own research, and was very, very grateful. Soon they were both most persistently grateful for the solitude and starry nights alone the lighthouse offered. It may not be true, but some say that the stars shone a little brighter the night the two became lovers._

_"Have there… been others," Annabeth asked, as they lay intertwined in her bed. "Who found your sealskin or..?"_

_"-my bed of coral and sponge in my palace of pearl?" Percy teased._

_"That doesn't sound comfortable at all," Annabeth snickered, nerve mostly forgotten. Mostly._

_"They weren't for sleeping," Percy said seriously. "And there were others. Courtiers and old friends, distant," at her expression he added "very VERY distant cousins and relatives."_

_"Ah." Annabeth, averting his eyes and focusing on his chiseled torso under sheets, snuggled closer in. "Well you had different expectations placed on you than I have here on the mainland."_

_"Hey, Wise Girl?" Percy tilted her head up to face him. "Ask me how many there were after after tonight? That's the right question."_

_"Maybe I already know what the answer to that is," Annabeth said with her old haughtiness, and a hint of a coy smile. "Or what it should be."_

_"Ask it anyway," Percy said with all the seriousness he could sincerely manage._

_With her heart ready to burst in her chest, Annabeth asked in a whisper that was almost timid. "How many will you love after me?"_

_Percy kissed her aristocratic brow. "None. Never."_

_..._

_But the stars weren't the only things that shined bright, and in foggy night sky the lighthouse tower was like a flickering torch overtop the strand. Fire on the coastline, just as the pirate queen's seer predicted._

_"Fire and coast," Octavian whispered. "It's as I said, my queen."_

_"It's a lighthouse," said Reyna with skepticism that made the night air feel a touch more cold. "There are dozens along the shore of this coast. This is just the one you picked out of all the others, because of blood staining a map."_

_"I'm sure of it," Octavian bowed. "I swear, this is what the powers of the spirits tell me."_

_"Years ago I'd have thrown you in pieces to the ocean's lowest scavenger fish to gulp down," Reyna said, conversationally. "Talking to me of spirits like that's where the real power resides. But seeing what I've seen, across tide and torrents, seven oceans worth of the unexplainable, I've tried to keep an open-mind. Mostly."_

_Octavian winced, rubbing his hands together. He was missing some fingers, Reyna did indeed toss pieces of him to the ocean when his predictions had been misinterpreted or just not to her liking. "And I am… forever grateful for your mercy, my queen."_

_"And I will be forever grateful to you, if this proves to be exactly what we're searching for." She breathed in the still, salty, coastal night air. Her grip on her scimitar tightened, at odds with her relaxed posture. "And if you have misled me again, I will think of a new mutilation for you, and I will make it… memorable."_

_Octavian shuddered. "I… know my queen."_

_"I'm sure you do," Reyna said softly, free hand reaching out to lightly trace a scar across his brow, down to a ruined eye-socket. "But haven't I always managed to surprise you?"_

_The ship sailed with navy-blue sails that blended in with the sea that dark night, impossible to tell the craft apart from the waves with the vantage from the cliffs. They beached it just in the crevice beneath the lighthouse, right before the cove where the sealskin had been hidden away._

_Reyna paced the deck of her ship, looking over her assembled crew. They stood in single file, facing her, with grappling hooks and ashy war-paint smeared over their faces. The worst, most dangerous men and women collected from across the strangest and most deadly lands ever sailed to, and she was their appointed captain and undisputed queen._

_For anyone else, it would've been enough. It would have been plenty. But as it was, Reyna had two people's worth of dreams to live up to. And this? This would never be enough._

_"We've climbed taller for less," she said softly. Spared a moment to glare at her seer, Octavian, who flinched under her gaze. "Much less." Turning back to her crew, "Are you with me?"_

_They'd have cheered if this wasn't a raid under the cover of night. Instead they pounded fists to chests, and it was all barely heard over the lapping of waves against the hull of their ship._

_Reyna nodded. "Let's go."_

_And with that, dexterous as lizards and silent as shadows, the sea-bound brigades scaled the nearly-sheer rock face up to the base of the lighthouse._

_..._

_The lighthouse keeper awoke first, hearing the sound of scraping against rock, and went to investigate. She hadn't thought that they would be in any danger, just suspecting nosy townsfolk, maybe just boys from the village._

_"I'll be right back," she whispered to Percy, kissing his brow. He stirred, but not fitfully, and she crept out all the same to get her shawl and lantern._

_She couldn't have known the true urgency. How could she?_

_Percy woke up not much later, but too late all the same, to the sound of breaking glass and a muffled scream. He bounded down the steps from Annabeth's room, forgetting he was unarmed and out of his element, stumbling in the dark._

_In the light of the fire from the lantern that had been flung aside, he saw the unspeakable. He forgot his training, all martial maneuvers and memories of combat. Instead he rushed headlong into a fray of bodies, grabbing and striking at random, trying to get these strangers, these monsters off the woman he loved._

_He fought like a hero and it wasn't enough._

_"Let her go!" Even when they had him pinned on broken glass, knives pressed against the back of his neck, he didn't have any concern for himself. "Let her go!"_

_"The coat," said a new, feminine voice. Pitiless and cold, the pirate queen took a seat on a stack of books piled high enough to serve as footstool._

_"The one you have not fit?" Percy snarled. "How can you do this? We've done none of you any harm-!"_

_"I was taught at an early age to do unto others before they can get the chance to do unto me," said Reyna. "Your seal-coat… don't bother denying it, I've seen eyes like yours before. Tell me where it is, or watch her bleed and what's left of her burn."_

_"Please, you don't have to do this-" Percy begged. He wasn't experienced with it, a prince and a warrior bred wasn't accustomed to begging, but his heart was dangling over the tip of a knife._

_"But I do," Reyna insisted quietly. "I've searched for someone like you for a very, very long time."_

_Annabeth struggled, of course she continued to struggle, even with her nose bloodied and her mouth gagged by a filthy scarf, but she redoubled her efforts seeing Percy held under a cutlass. Eventually it was loud enough to attract Reyna's attention._

_"I was like you, once," she admitted to Annabeth, dispassionately. "Except I was more fortunate, I had a sister who shared the misery. Captured by pirates, made a slave, not that you or anyone else would be able to tell now. Look at me now… Paved this way with a dream, you know. We lived on an island, a gorgeous island, and our queen told such stories. Stories of a third race of people, beautiful people beneath the waves. And the powers that they possessed, such wonder like no one on land would ever see with their own two eyes. But she lied about having the magic to protect us from men, with ships and steel, and what else could she have lied about? My sister held hope that you existed, people like you, your realm of beautiful, magical people. I had lost hope, but I had her. Now she's gone beneath the waves before she could see everything I've become, everything I'm capable of-"_

_"I'm sure she'd be very proud," Percy snarled. "You with your ship and your steel. Everything you represent is why there won't ever be peace between the two worlds. If it all was hidden from you back when you were a slave, you need to know this; it's your own damn fault. Your heart was set before you seized any crown or spilled any blood, and it was wrong from the start. If it wasn't, you wouldn't have become this."_

_For a moment, her crew held their breath, waiting for Reyna to explode with fury, to order his throat cut from ear to ear. Instead though, she just smiled slyly down at Percy. "But you don't deny it?"_

_Percy glared, staying silent and defiant._

_Reyna expected that much. She nodded to Kahale. "Cut her ear off. Your pick. Then keep cutting until he tells the truth. But save her eyes for last so she can see each piece thrown to the sea. And watch him disappoint her, again and again and again-"_

_"Stop… please. Please stop," Percy choked out._

_But the pirate queen was merciless. "The coat."_

_Annabeth screamed through the gag, tears running down her face. But it was clear she wasn't afraid of these men, or their knives or their hunger, but rather the loss she would soon be put through. There would be no getting Percy back from the pirates if he surrendered the coat._

_All it took was for the biggest pirate to pull out a knife the size of a noble lady's hand-mirror though, and Percy immediately answered "Under the basin, in the washroom."_

_He didn't breathe easy until Reyna nodded and her pirate put his knife back in its sheath._

_"Percy-" Annabeth gasped, having chewed through the gag in her desperation. "I'll find you. I swear, I swear I'll find you."_

_"I knew we were alike," Reyna nodded. "I said the same thing." The seal-coat was presented to her, still damp and folded. Without preamble she drew her own, more elegant knife across the slick folds._

_The pain was immediate, across Percy's chest and elicited a scream from his very soul. Annabeth thrashed in the grip of no less than six pirates, trying to reach him or maybe the pirate queen, it was uncertain which but she was prepared to carry him away or cut their queen down in that instant._

_But Reyna was unconcerned, and that was either the crew had her complete confidence to keep her safe, or she was too enraptured by the proof of everything her sister believed in. She nuzzled the seal-skin like a child would their blanket, and Percy shuddered, now feeling violated as well as wounded. "I kept my promise Hylla. Our faith rewarded at last with a shred of proof."_

_Reyna looked to Percy, and there was clear, covetous want in her eyes. "And there will be more. Take him down to my cabin and clean him up." She nodded to those holding Annabeth. "And the rest of you, don't take too long."_

_"You said you'd let her go," Percy pleaded._

_"I did no such thing," Reyna said. "But I will let her live. Same favor I received years and years ago. And you will lead me to such treasures, my seal-prince."_

_Perseus didn't struggle any further as they dragged him to the cliffs and lowered him to their ship. Not while she had his seal-coat. And behind him, the lighthouse burned as pirates ransacked it, set it ablaze. When the ship sailed with dawn breaking, a woman in tattered sheets stared brokenly out at horizon._

_That was the last anyone saw of the lighthouse keeper, and the mysterious man who entered her life. They at first blamed him for the lighthouse being burnt, others went as far as to say he had been in league with the pirates from the beginning. But the truth was lost to the waves, and to the horizon._

_And the stars shined a little less bright._


	4. The Devil's Vanity

Thank you everyone who has followed and please feel free to review.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Percy Jackson & the Olympians".

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**The Devil's Vanity**

...**  
**

Hazel was silent for a long moment. "That was a sad story."

Wasn't like Frank could argue against that. "I should have warned you."

"You've a short memory sir," Hazel said, "because I remember that you did just that.

"Well shame on me for forgetting," Frank forced a smile. "But even so, I'm sorry if it was… offensive to you."

"There's no offense taken," Hazel assured. "Such things happened all over the world without a bit of magic to take away the banality of it all."

"You speak like a philosopher queen," praise Frank, toasting her with his tea.

"And you tell a story… that didn't involve many ghosts." Hazel smirked. "I thought we were telling ghost stories?"

"I don't remember if I promised that exactly," said Frank, "I did promise a sad ending."

"Oh so now you remember?" Hazel scoffed. "Very well, I can imagine a story with a sad ending too."

"I didn't have to imagine it," corrected Frank. "It wasn't my story."

"So it was true?" Hazel probbed, curious.

"I didn't say that either," Frank said, evasive. "Just that it wasn't something I made up."

"Well then," Hazel nodded. "I suppose that'll be the qualifications for our storytelling for tonight. And I do have something."

"Please," Frank nodded. "Go ahead and consider me a captive audience…"

_Once, before time, there was a war throughout all the heavens._

_Before oceans mixed silt of riverbanks, before mud had a name, before the howling wind or soft breeze had kissed the top of mountain peaks, there was this great and terrible first ever war._

_There was and never would be something worthy of comparing it to; both sides were immortal and could not properly die-_

"Yeah speaking from experience a war where no one dies doesn't sound so bad," interjected Frank. "And besides, didn't the good side win?"

"Did they?" Hazel asked pointedly. "Is what you've seen indicative of a heavenly world?"

Frank gave a low whistle. "That is bold to say…"

"We've a story here," Hazel reminded. "For you to listen to and me to finish telling. Shall I..? Now-"

_-but that just made the lengths they would go to destroy one another all the more horrific and destructive. Skies burned and oceans boiled, continents were split to their foundation, shadow and light locked in a kraken's embrace made for endless night only broken by the streaks of comets as the stars pledged to one side or the other and took up radiant arms. Fields of still living, immortal angelic hosts were impaled on spikes of ice and shafts of hatred made solid, a forest of screaming agony and anguish. Thousands of demonic creatures trapped in coffins of iron or cages made of unforgiveness wailed and gnashed their teeth until jaws warped and splintered fangs cut open gums, sawing at their own flesh at the idea of hunger first wielded as a weapon against the first enemies._

_It was brother fighting brother, lover against lover, friends fighting friends, and above all else, it was children rebelling against a parent who offered nothing but love. They were scared, you see, of the new plan that was laid out, they were threatened by plans set in motion for the new race of people, not immortal like they were but would be given dominion over worlds._

_And there were two sisters at the center of it all. Both beautiful, spirited, and on opposite sides._

_"They would put people from the… the mud," said Drew, nearly spitting the (newly invented) word, "in charge of us! Us, spirits of starlight and sunbeams. Whole worlds literally revolved around us, and those fools in the Cities of Silver would put degenerate savages living like fleas on the back of great orbs of dirt in charge of… of…"_

_Silena, the second sister, sighed. "In charge of matters immaterial and material, to creatively guide and wisely shepherd. To be gardeners to nature and to be conduits to poetic spirits."_

_"We are poetic spirits," Drew insisted. "We are literally, in every conceivable respect, above them! Lena, please… they have choices, and that's almost a guarantee they will make the wrong ones, every time."_

_"You don't know that," Silena retorted. "For all you know they could have an understanding of the world from living in it that we wouldn't be able to comprehend from on high."_

_"Living," Drew pointed out. "There it is, 'living', not 'existing', not 'being', but mortal, breathing and shedding and bleeding and and… and ugh, excremating all over the world before they straight up keel over and die. Mortals Lena, actual mortals!"_

_"I don't see the problems," Silena said primly._

_"They live, they die," Drew snapped, "and not very long between the two. And then their souls come wherever they please to pollute our home? To come and be ignorant and crass, knowing nothing of how to be an immortal creature?"_

_Silena laughed, though a little nervously. "I'm sure they'll have a system in place before then."_

_"And they'll need to be taught, all the time." Drew looked ready to spit fire at the thought. "Because they'll keep dying Silena… they'll die and their little minds are only capable of remembering so far back, they'll keep forgetting what the people before them had learned, and we'll have to keep coming down in the mud to remind them of all the simple, little, trivial, petty things… and they're so ugly…"_

_"Speaking of petty," Silena quipped. "Drew. Please? This is foolish. They'll have a system in place, they'll have new measures, there's a plan, I'm sure of it."_

_"Because why? You want it very badly?" Drew mocked. "Because you can't imagine otherwise? Ever think that might be because you're just not smart enough, not thinking hard enough?"_

_Silena hadn't an answer for all of that, but it wasn't her fault; faith was a new concept, as was suffering, and convictions, and mercy, and loss. The war in the heavens was as much a test as any other grand tragedy, even for immortals._

_"Lena, please," Drew pleaded when she saw her sister remained undecided. "Come with me."_

_"You know I can't," Silena said, mournfully. "But please, take this. And remember better days."_

_So the two sisters went to opposite sides of the war, with only a matching pair of mirrors between them. Shaped from starlight and essence of nebula, these mirrors showed perfect reflection of appearance, hopes, dreams, and grandest aspirations. But the sister on the side of angels gave it for another reason; even if they remained separated, with the dark sister in exile, they would be able to communicate with one another through these small vanities._

_As expected, the dark sister lost her place in the heavens when the war was won by the celestial powers, and was stripped of wings and position amongst the stars. Like many others, she sought refuge from the mortals she once scorned, now that they were a danger to her._

_Those who were stripped of their powers in the heavens were powerless on the mortal plane, afterall. Indeed, they were at such a loss that they were hunted down as monsters by the earliest of men, who were halfway between beast and savage. The flesh of a fallen angel tasted sweet to them._

_The only place that was free to take the fallen angels was a deep, deep city beneath the bowels of the earth. There ruled an emperor of renown, over spirits of fire and metal, molten rock and gemstones. This dark emperor offered those scorned rebels amnesty in exchange for services, and the dark sister plied her trade of beauty as a concubine amongst the giants and genies of the great, blazing depths. She joined the ranks of the first ever succubi._

_"You know," Drew remarked to herself, "the name might need a change, and people might judge me harshly, but I believe history will vindicate my choices." It wouldn't._

_Now, this dark sister, the succubus, she thought the work was beneath her just as she thought the mortals were beneath her. Every day her pride was tested, little by little her bitterness grew, with only two things that ever served to make her even a little bit happier; the clandestine talks with her sister in the heavens, and jewels._

_Jewels, gemstones, all set in the almost liquid looking metals that never tarnished, precious and perfect, they enhanced her beauty better than any nimbus or halo could. So she always was seeking favor with the smiths of the great Emperor Underground, always new favors._

_"I'll never understand your fascination with the trinkets," said Nico. This, the Emperor Underground, chose to dress in cold iron and shadow, the ultimate rarities in the blazing molten world below. And he was growing irritated with the succubus who kept pestering him for more of the glittering dross that his realm was practically dripping in for her own._

_"I don't ask you to," said Drew, with as much respect as she could muster. Being deep below mortal feet hadn't taught her humility, but the Emperor Underground had taught her fear. "It's just… they are so beautiful sir… I mean your majesty, your grace, your ever lowliness-?"_

_"Skip the titles, honestly," Nico interrupted, feeling a migraine coming on. "What is it about the stones and the metal?"_

_"It's not all stones and metal sir," Drew insisted. "It's the shiniest and the most perfect examples," her eyes grew almost misty. "It's like I'm wearing the starlights and the constellations, like I'm wearing home, not kicked out of it. All the beautiful things I'd never think to see again… and then I'm wearing it, feeling like the center of the world… the universe? How could a girl resist?"_

_"Hm." Now the Emperor Underground had a scheme, one he had been hoping to put into effect for some time. Afterall, the fallen angels couldn't work like his spirits and giants, they were immortal but had no concept of work ethic. They were air and soft twinkling light, not hard metal ore and blazing infernos. He would need other immortal creatures that didn't require eons of rest after centuries of work like his invulnerable but lumbering titanic beasts, or his temperamental fire spirits that would destroy as soon as they would forge. "These gems seem to be your best friends."_

_"I'm especially fond of what you call 'diamonds' sir," agreed Drew._

_"Very well," said the Emperor Underground. "I will give you such diamonds, find you enough stones to build a palace out of them, if you can do something for me."_

_"Anything," Drew immediately agreed. "What?"_

_"In the heavens there's a… an algorithm. A sequence of starlight that calls… ah you don't need to know," Nico shrugged. "Just give me a design of the stars in the center of the silver city and I will grant you all the gems you could ever desire."_

_"It's been so long," Drew objected. "I can't remember that many stars."_

_"You've given me knowledge of many things," Nico said judiciously. "And for that I will remain forever grateful. But this is what I want most of all, and if you can't provide it then you can admire the sparkling stones of my realm where they lie, out of reach and fixed in rough, blistering bedrock."_

_That didn't appeal to the dark sister at all. So she hatched a scheme of her own._

_One day, after her duties in the heavens were completed (scattering soft dewdrops from the clouds, directing gentle breezes) the heavenly sister found a thick cloud to nestle herself into, folding her wings for additional privacy, and summoned her sisters' visage to appear in the mirror she had in her own possession. But this time, when she attempted to contact her sister with the other mirror, a new visage appeared in the frame._

_He was, to her, the most beautiful sight in all the cosmos. But it would take more than just looks to impress her._

_"Er, new… mirror, who this?" He said. Rough as she was soft, dark as she was fair, full of solid steel and power to shake the earth while she was graceful and seemed as delicate as fog and spring breezes._

_"I'm… very sorry, should we be talking?" Silena was worried now, she had heard rumors about the deep world beneath the earth. What if Drew was in trouble? Even exiled, they were still sisters and she'd have to do something if Drew was locked away in some chasm or tortured by subterranean giants._

_"Why shouldn't we?" Asked the new face._

_"I… well I don't know," Silena said, and was secretly glad he seemed to want to talk to her some more too. And she enjoyed making friends. And she enjoyed looking at him. "How did you come to have this mirror?"_

_"Drew gave it to me," he said. "I'm… well, I work with the furnaces mostly. I keep the core of the earth molten. It's not much, I don't keep the ground shifting or tell mountains when to burst open but it's an honest living and someone's gotta do it. Earth is still young afterall. Can't be having a frozen solid ball of metal right smack in the middle of the whole thing. It's not done."_

_"That makes sense," Silena nodded. "It sounds like a very important job that needs a lot of know-how. But how did you get the mirror?"_

_"Oh, Drew gave it to me," he said again._

_"But why?" Silena was worried. "Did she try to leave the underground? Is she in trouble?" Worse, Silena wondered if her bitter, vain sister no longer wanted to talk to her anymore._

"Oh and that would be such a loss," chuckled Frank.

"You shush, they're sisters," Hazel snapped. "They're supposed to fight but never lose sight of that bond."

"I know, but she's," Frank struggled for the right words. "She's an actual demon."

"Yes but she's an actual angel," Hazel pointed out, with finality. "She's supposed to be forgiving of faults, no matter how obvious."

"Not all angels are so forgiving," Frank muttered.

"This one is, so shush," said Hazel.

_"Nothing like that," he said. "She wants me to," here he sighed. "'Bedazzle' it."_

_"I'm sorry, what?" Silena was now indignant. What was her sister playing at? Was she having this spirit of the molten metal destroy their only bond? Was she that spiteful and short sighted?_

_"Not my idea and not my word for it," he said, defensively. "She wants me to put jewels on the frame. To remind her of home. She said… 'it's more natural to see her surrounded by the stars'."_

_That sounded rather sweet, so Silena was willing to forgive. "Jewels?"_

_He held up one stone, not very impressed with it. "Red diamond. Thought I could do what she describes a sunset to look like, work from darker down to brighter hues…"_

_"It's beautiful," Silena gaped. And blushed, pretty as the dawn. He had very entrancing fingers, spinning that stone orb of sparkling light in his hand. "What's your name?"_

_"Call me Beckendorf," he said, "everyone else does."_

_"Am I like everyone else?" She teased._

_"Call me Beckendorf," he said again. "I prefer it."_

_"Beckendorf," she said grandly. "I'm Silena."_

_"I know, Drew mentioned you," Beckendorf admitted. "I don't know if she remembered you were supposed to be calling."_

_"Well I'm glad I did," said Silena, sincerely._

_Now it was Beckendorf's turn to be bashful. "So am I, Silena. Really."_

_As it happened, Drew definitely meant for Silena to call and for Beckendorf to answer. She knew her sister well enough to be ensnared by beautiful things, and she thought gems and jewels would be perfect. She never counted on her liking one of the denizens of the depths._

_His reaction though, that was far more predictable. How could one of these lowlies resist the very vision that was a celestial daughter?_

_So, Drew proceeded to put her plan into action with careful flattery and cajoling._

_To her sister Silena, she would say, "Oh I know, he's the handsomest of all the fiery spirits of the underground. I mean, they're all hot but he's well… hot hot. No you can't come across too easy, you're one of the good ones, you can't make him think you're like me, for some reason he likes you but you can't let him know he has that power, mmkay?"_

_But to Beckendorf, as he worked at maintaining his furnace, she would say, "You've got it bad, don't you? Well I hope you're prepared to impress her with something truly spectacular. What? You think she just wants to talk? They're all the same up there in the heavens, and my sister is the most beautiful of them all, surrounded by beauty, she swims through clouds of beauty, loses count of the stars in vast canvas of beauty. She didn't even notice you until you showed her one of the gemstones, did she? Oh what does it matter how I figured that out? It's true isn't it? Didn't even ask for your name… Don't worry, you've been nothing but kind to me, I won't steer you astray hon…"_

_It was worth noting Drew was responsible for inventing gossip, lying, and sarcasm._

"Fun girl," remarked Frank.

"Gossip can be fun," Hazel admitted shyly.

"Oh I know, it's to die for," Frank said, rolling his eyes.

"And that's sarcasm." Hazel raised her cup. "To the succubus."

"To our succubus," Frank cheered, joining the toast.

_Both lovers with a whole realm of earth and sky separating them were at a loss with how to impress upon the other their feelings, and their anguish was heightened by the dark sister pouring poison in both their ears._

_It was starting to affect their work as well._

_"Silena, what is this?" asked Will, an angel of the sunbeams. His rays of light had recently been coming across new obstacles in Silena's domains._

_"Hm? Oh that's… that's rain, and that's mist," Silena explained absently._

_"I don't know if you got permission to make new forms of refreshing dewdrops," Will pointed out. "I don't know if you can even call them dewdrops-"_

_"I know, I messed up," Silena admitted. "I've just been… trying something new, please don't report me?"_

_Now, Will had a choice to make, and between who to side with in a Celestial Civil War? Well, this seemed much easier. Oh how different things would've been had he said something though… "Alright, well, it does make very interesting things happen when the light passes through… have you named those yet?"_

_Silena shook her head. She honestly hadn't even been paying attention, you see. Heavy rainfall was inspired by teardrops and misty eyes inspired the first fog._

_"I'll call them rainbows for now," Will mused. "Until someone comes up with something better."_

_Deep below the earth, at his furnace, one of the many brothers of the spirit of fire Beckendorf was getting likewise worried._

_"Dorf," asked Mason, named for his work shifting stones deep below to make new canyons and chasms. It was exhausting work and he'd much rather sleep after getting his first rounds in, but his concern for his brother took priority. "You keep fiddling with toys. Are you sure you're happy with your job? I could talk to the Emperor about getting you reassigned?"_

_"They're not toys," Beckendorf insisted. "They're going to be a gift."_

_The only one who would want a gift made out of that shiny rubble that Mason could think of was that fallen angel, the dark sister, but he wasn't going to judge Beckendorf his infatuation. Maybe if he had known which sister he preferred things would've been different, but Mason was tired and yawned. "Don't let it affect your work, things are getting cold down here."_

_"I won't," said Beckendorf absently._

_But his every moment was consumed by thoughts of the celestial sister, the heavenly one whose smiles he lived for, whose laughter he breathed in like sweetest air after eons of smog and ash. She played it coy, the rare times Drew could permit him use of the mirror to talk to her, and as she kept pointing out, it was a favor to him to let him bother her sister. The mirror was so that they could talk to each other, afterall._

_And she showed him such things, this Silena, of stardrops and this rock suspended up and above in a great nothing called the sky, which they were thinking about calling the moon, and of dewfall on this fragile creation called grass in this new canvas they called 'meadows'. He understood for the first time the joy someone could take in things of beauty rather than pure function and machinery, the delicate and fragile things having just as much a place in designing a world as the heavy metals and molten rock. But most of all, the joy she took in these things so clearly made him all the more interested in her, all the more self-conscious of his roughly chiseled features and unyielding nature. What could he offer? And all the things she showed him, how could it be anything other than a gentle (as she was so gentle in all things) reminder that they were too different, that she was used to such splendor as he couldn't ever replicate?_

_But he would try._

_"Oh no, I think she'll adore it," said Drew when he showed her the latest in his work. She squashed the feelings of jealousy that always sprouted up whenever it was clear that Beckendorf made better gifts for Silena than he ever did for her._

_"Are you sure?" Beckendorf asked, full of nerves. "She won't think it's presumptuous?"_

_"It reminds me of home," Drew insisted. "She'll see it and think that you're someone who cares for her sister-"_

_"But not too much," Beckendorf cut in seriously, "because that'd be the wrong idea."_

_"... Right," Drew muttered. "She'll see you as someone who listens to her, who is thoughtful and creative, and most of all someone who is just as good as all the other angelic boyfriends she almost definitely has in the cosmos."_

_"Other boyfriends?" Beckendorf repeated, his heart sinking._

_"Oh don't worry hon," Drew cooed, "after she sees me in this, she'll forget all about them. She'll only want you. I think there'll be plenty more talks with you in the future, her up on her cloud and you in your furnace-"_

_"I have to see her…" Beckendorf muttered. "There has to be a way."_

_"Whoa whoa," Drew said. "Slow down their hot-stuff, my sister and I might've fought on opposite sides of the war but I'm not about to drag her off her cloud just to chat with you."_

_"Then I'll find my own way," Beckendorf said, leaving._

_"Well that's ominous." Things would've been different if Drew hadn't been so concerned with her own schemes and cleverness, but as it so happened she was, and when she talked to Silena next, she was wearing a gorgeous gildle made of platinum studded with sparkling stones in-_

_"Is that the Silver City constellations?" asked Silena, curious._

_"I don't know," Drew shrugged noncommittally. "Is it? Your boyfriend Beckendorf made it for me, I wear it when I don't care how I look."_

_"Oh my," gushed Silena. "Oh he's so thoughtful. I have to see him. Drew he's the most wonderful person in all the cosmos-"_

_"If you think fire giants are people, sure," Drew remarked doubtfully, not liking where this was going and trying to keep the conversation back to her. "But this is an exact replica of the constellation of the Silver City?"_

_"Yes, I showed it to him from afar just the once and he was so clever to have remembered," Silena sighed dreamily._

_"Well that's all I needed," Drew chirped merrily. "Bye hon, don't do anything I wouldn't do!"_

_So Drew cut her meeting with Silena short and went to Nico the Emperor Underground with the girdle. The Emperor Underground looked at the craftsmanship and had his most capable spirits of stone and metalworks construct an enormous replica of that very same constellation, deep in the heart of his subterranean kingdom._

_You see, the constellation at the center of the Silver City wasn't just random array of starlight, but a signal fire to souls leaving their mortal shells-_

"Like a lighthouse for ships?" asked Frank.

"Very much," said Hazel.

"Oh," said Frank, not liking where this was going.

_Now when souls of mortals perished naturally on the world, they had too signals to follow._

_One was to take them to above, where they would learn how to be angels in the wonderous and beautiful cities of silver and play amongst nebulas and nimbus clouds._

_The other though, that would bring them down below to the Emperor Underground, who would finally have immortal creatures used to toil, who never tired or wasted away, and they'd be put to work forever keeping the inferno blazing and the rocks heaving._

_Worse still, since the signal below the earth was so much closer, mankind grew more enamored with shiny rocks and glossy metals. Why wouldn't they? It became more apparent when they made things of machinery and invented new means of drudgery to pull the insides of the earth out, to hoard and to worship the molten metal and bask in the fractals of a gem._

_The angels wondered how this could've happened, and asked amongst themselves, but Silena? She knew._

_"I hope you're happy with those stones," Silena cried to Drew in her final message. "You clearly value them so much more than me or anyone else." And so she shattered her mirror, and it became ice. The largest pieces fell and became glaciers, and the lukewarm sea froze in places they landed. The smaller pieces became icicles and the snowbank found atop the mountains, and very teeny tiniest became snowflakes and would drift about forever._

_Not to be outdone, and too proud to even try to apologize, Drew smashed her own mirror, and mourned the loss of the scattered red gemstones almost as much as she mourned losing the last gift her sister ever gave her. No jewels would ever replace that, she learned much too late._

_In her shame, Silena came down from her cloud and wandered the earth in penance, trying to undo the damage she had unwittingly wrought through falling for her sister's machinations._

_No one knows what became of her; maybe she wasted away when mankind refused to listen, maybe she was slain by the ever present savagery in the human heart that still hungered for the blood of fallen angels, or maybe she turned invisible and watches over every mortal to this very day. No one knows._

_And as for the spirit of fire, the great worker of the furnace at the center of the world, he neglected his task so that the world now turned slowly, an orb of metal at the center so vast and heavy it takes all the enslaved ghosts and at least ten giants of stone to keep it turned, and the giants need to sleep. Three at a time, so that at most only seven may turn the world rightwise._

_Beckendorf went up above to find Silena, still thinking she was somewhere in the clouds. He travels by earthquake searching for her still, but only comes up briefly to look and try to see her in the clouds, breaking apart the rocks with fire, splitting apart mountain tops, his inferno making the very first proper volcanoes. There would be no more predictable eruptions from the taskmasters below the earth now, now those fiery mountains burst at the whims of his heartbreak._

_And every day, it's said his heart breaks the earth a little more._


	5. The Red Jewels and Moonlight

Now with fanart completed!

Disclaimer: I don't own "Percy Jackson & the Olympians".

* * *

**The Red Jewels & Moonlight**

Frank applauded. "And you didn't want to tell stories."

"It's supposed to be sad," Hazel gently rebuked.

He stopped clapping. "Oh it was, I definitely think so. But it's just that, I've heard a different version so I'm not as concerned about a giant made of fire breaking the world apart. There's worse monsters to worry about."

"I didn't think anyone else heard that story before," Hazel admitted.

"Why, did you make most of it up?" Frank asked.

"No, it's just very obscure." Hazel looked suspiciously at him. "Where did you hear it?"

"I read," Frank said evasively.

"You said…" Hazel frowned, then straightened in her seat. "You said that you knew there were worse monsters out there."

"Believe me," Frank sighed. "I wish I didn't."

"Tell me a story about one of them," Hazel asked, all but demanded. "We were promised ghost stories."

"Not all ghosts are monstrous," Frank pointed out. "Your story had ghosts and spirits-"

"Tell a scary story," Hazel asked again. "I insist."

"Alright, but I must warn you," Frank said with deadly seriousness. "This one is true."

"Maybe they all have been," suggested Hazel.

"Maybe," agreed Frank. "Wouldn't that be something?"

_Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl who grew to be a gorgeous woman-_

"I hate her already," said Hazel.

"What?" Frank laughed.

"In case you haven't noticed 'beautiful' girls stay on the clouds, 'gorgeous' women take jewels and drag souls underground," Hazel primly responded.

"Give her a chance, she may surprise you," Frank said, still smiling.

To that, Hazel just raised an eyebrow. "Will she now?"

"No," Frank admitted. "Anyway…"

_-grew to be a gorgeous woman, an actress of some renown. But some would more easily label her a courtesan, or harsher, ruder terms. While she was famed on stage, her infamy for private affairs with wealthy, powerful men quickly became what she was most widely known for._

_She lived in luxury and excess until she reached too far and too greedily; she got involved with a married man, not for the first time, but this one had a very powerful, especially vindictive wife. And she would not quietly bear the shame of her husband's philandering. Instead she hired out some very brutal hatchetmen, in every sense of the word, to destroy her reputation and her property. To protect herself, her young daughter, and as-of-yet unborn child, the actress fled with what funds she still had with the assistance of friends she'd never see again to live in the country, far far away._

_She didn't take it with good grace._

_"I used to be the most sought after lead in all the land," moaned Beryl to herself, far from home and far from sober. This would be a recurring event at their new home, Beryl drinking and leaving her children to fend for themselves. She had the foresight to curb her drinking whilst still nursing her newborn son, but after he was old enough to walk it was like a candle was snuffed out and there was no light or hope left behind her eyes. "I used to have furs and peals and adoration from the crowds… now I can't walk these streets without muck getting on everything, breathing in this very air smelling like I'm kissing a cow."_

_"Maybe you should kiss a cow," said her daughter, who started talking back as soon as she could talk, and could judge how drunk her mother was by this point. Now she estimated that her mother was too drunk to do more than throw a bottle at her, and not with any heat or accuracy to do damage. "Maybe you'll get a cow prince instead of a frog prince, like in the stories other mamas read to their children."_

_Beryl idly tossed a jug in her daughter's direction, with a moan that was barely decipherable as 'shut up'. It rolled a good yard away from Thalia's direction, and she picked up the earthenware to determine if it was cracked. That would be another thing they would end up having to spend more money on, and they had been pinching pennies since Jason was getting ready for tutoring. Thankfully, it wasn't cracked._

_Thalia, her daughter, was old enough to remember being in the shadow of her famous mother, and the seclusion that came with luxury. When she was younger, she wasn't afraid of the prospect of poverty. She had friends, playmates who didn't care about silly things like dresses and stuffy music and tea, and she had the forest to play in. Some days she thought, dreamed even of running away into the forest to live as a hermit with the animals for company. There she'd live on wild berries and clean spring water and only emerge to play games and share candy with the other village children._

_At least, that's what she had hoped for when she was a young girl. Now, after setting the jug on a shelf, she checked on her little brother, reminded of the last time her mother had poorer aim but put more effort into it. Then she had caught the little boy in the face and scarred his lip terribly. That was, in many ways, when Thalia's childhood was over and she had to accept that she had a parent's responsibilities to her brother, Jason. Then gone were dreams of ever being a princess in the forest forever._

_No, Thalia had to be the one who thought ahead while her mother was in this state. And while she was disrespectful and caustic, resentful for each time she cleaned up after her soused mother, none could deny that she loved her brother. The world hadn't seen a more faithful sister-_

Frank stopped when Hazel hiccuped most abruptly, dabbing at her eyes.

"Are you alright?" Frank asked, worried at Hazel's sudden and lengthy show of feeling.

"I'm fine," Hazel lied, keeping emotion out of her voice to mixed success. "Just something in my eye, maybe a bit of dust."

"Or ash," Frank suggested, making note of the charred edges of the room. "Did you have a sibling? A sister?"

"I was an only child," said Hazel. "Though I would have liked a big sister. Truly I would have."

"A big sister like this wild girl in your story would've made my childhood much more exciting," admitted Frank. "Only child too."

"I'm sorry for my… dust in my eyes." Hazel cleared her throat. "Could you-?"

Frank nodded. "If you want me to."

"Well," Hazel thought about it. "Yes, please."

Frank nodded once more, thought back to where he left off. "So it went for a few years-"

_-until the dutiful sister and resentful daughter grew into a woman._

_By then, she was beginning to come out of the last traces of gangly awkwardness like a fawn becoming a deer, or a puppy becoming a she-wolf. She had the elegance her mother once had in abundance, with a charisma that was all her own. She wasn't lonely but she was growing stifled in that house, however pleased she was that her brother was becoming a fine young boy._

_Her mother though, she saw her daughter growing into her beauty with relish, envy yes, but not enough to blind her from the opportunities that it presented. So she started looking for prospective matches for her daughter._

_Thalia, meantime, was looking for wild berries in the woods. It was there she found the man she was certain she'd be willing to marry, carrying poached quails._

_"I won't tell if you don't," he winked after a minute of them staring at each other, not expecting company this deep in the woods. Thalia wasn't afraid, she kept a knife on her for such purposes, and none of the other villagers had ever been inclined to bother her before. But this was a new face, and not a face that you could forget. He was very handsome, with light blond hair kept long and tied back with a length of twine, similar to the twine he used to bind his illicitly acquired gaming fowl. He had an easy smile and a scar running down the side of his face that added to his mysterious, rugged charm._

_If she were a different, weaker girl, maybe Thalia would swoon a little, or ask if he was some manner of faerie or angel, or at least a prince. Maybe she'd even curtsy. Now, Thalia wasn't like that though, and she'd die of embarrassment if she tried to curtsy to a stranger poaching in the woods. So what she said instead was "I didn't see anything," with a wink._

_He winked back._

_"You coming by here again?" She asked as they were leaving, sadly in opposite directions._

_"I thought you didn't see anything?" he teased, laughing._

_"What's your name?" Thalia called, but he just laughed and kept walking. So she muttered a curse on his guts and kept trudging back to her family's house, berries forgotten and porridge eaten plain, cold and gloopy._

_Though the next day, she arrived at the same time as before and waited at the same spot. Silently she cursed herself this time, after she ran out of curses for this mysterious poacher. Why would she think he'd come back so soon to the scene of the crime? After he was so successful the first time coming? And after being witnessed? What if he didn't think she kept her mouth shut and the forester was after his hide? Oh she should've told, would've been less a headache to get him out of her mind-_

_"Luke," said a voice at her elbow that made her jump._

_"Don't you mean 'boo'?" she asked, once she settled down and stopped laughing at her._

_"It's a little early for pet names, beautiful," he quipped. "But we'll give it time."_

_"My name is Thalia," she shot back._

_"Thalia," he nodded. "You sure you don't want to be called 'beautiful'?"_

_"Only if you mean it," Thalia said, turning up her nose at him, unconsciously imitating her mother turning down another provincial suitor._

_He wasn't deterred in the least. "I'd tell you I am, and you'd call me a liar."_

_"You're presuming that I'm not a trusting person," Thalia countered. "I'm not sure I like men who presume."_

_"What else would you call a girl who clearly is beautiful who doesn't believe it when a stranger who has nothing to gain from harming her calls her beautiful in such a romantic spot?" Luke replied with a grin._

_"Cautious," Thalia said without missing a beat._

_"Or hard to impress," Luke said with a waggle of eyebrows. "How do country boys impress the prettiest girl in the woods? See who can stick the most frogs in their mouths? Show off who can spit the farthest?"_

_"I spit the farthest," Thalia warned. "So don't test me."_

_"Thanks for the heads up," Luke bowed lightly, and without a single trace of embarrassment that Thalia knew would come if she had ever tried that curtsy when she first met him._

_"I'm a good sport," Thalia demurred._

_"I didn't know we were playing a game," Luke denied, blinking with faux-innocence. "What do I stand to win?"_

_"You haven't a chance," declared Thalia, "so why should I tell you?"_

_"Because I've surprised you once already, beautiful girl," Luke boasted. "And I'm ready to do it again. And you're such a good sport. So what are we playing and what can I win?"_

_Thalia just smiled._

_They met again like this plenty of times after, at all hours of the day, sometimes well until the night. Maybe things would be different if Thalia paid more attention to what was happening at home, but she was preoccupied with a first love._

_And kisses. Lots of first kisses._

_One day though she was skipping back through the woods (though she stopped when she reached the edge of the woods and into town, she had a reputation to keep) and she saw Jason, still in his school clothes, sitting on an upturned bucket by the front door. A pair of horses were tied by their bridles to the gatepost._

_"Hello little brother," greeted Thalia, not yet worried as her good mood from kissing wouldn't permit it just yet. "What's with the horses? Is it your birthday already? Because at least one of those horses are for me, mom already said so."_

_"Hello old sister," Jason greeted back, though his face looked morose. "She's done it this time, and you're gonna be so mad."_

_Now Thalia was worried. Had her mother drank too much and actually managed to offend someone important in town? Did she sell something important? Were they going to lose the house? "I'll fix this," she swore to Jason._

_"That's what I'm afraid of," Jason muttered solemnly._

_Thalia was already through the door though, ready to face down her mother in a whirlwind of shouting and threatening, which would probably drive her mother back to the bottle like a knight unsuccessful in attempts to slay a dragon might drive it back to it's cavernous lair. At best they'd not speak at dinner, at worse Thalia would have no supper at all and if she was sent to her room without supper so was Jason, because who else would cook? No wonder Jason was upset._

_But all of Thalia's well practiced triades failed her when she came into the kitchen; her mother wasn't soused in the least, but dressed finer and looking more happy than she had been for the last few months. So happy in fact, Thalia was worried she did forget Jason's birthday afterall, when else could their mother put on such an excellent facade? That didn't explain the two visitors though, clearly a father and his son._

_Oh no._

_"Hello..?" Thalia greeted, at ill-ease. "Mama, you look pretty today."_

_"Well I just had such good news to share," Beryl gushed. "Wedding news already brings wedding bliss, in my opinion."_

_"You're getting married?" Thalia guessed (and also desperately hoped). That would cause some unwelcome changes, it would mean moving into a new house and having new expectations thrust upon her, but Jason would endure and she'd try to find ways to make it to the woods again. Her plans with Luke weren't going to suffer just yet-_

_Beryl laughed, and it was a genuine, from the belly laugh. It was a touch too amused for the portly and splotchy faced man, who started to look a little agitated. "No," Beryl calmed down. "Oh heavens no. You, silly girl. Meet your future father-in-law," the portly man toasted her "and your betrothed, Matthew Sloan."_

_Thalia turned her attention to the stranger her mother was so happy to sell her to. He was a scrawny young man, though that might have been the overabundance of fabric to his clothes that were designed to showcase an excess of expensive cloth. The high quality was wasted on the figure for all the lack of care he took to properly maintain these clearly valuable fabrics. He had a number of rings and chains, and they were each gaudier than the next, and all looked even worse in comparison to each other. He had hair that was more muddy than brown, and eyes like a dog that had treed a fugitive, looking Thalia up and down with teeth bared. One tooth in the front was slightly chipped._

_"No," Thalia said almost instinctively. After she put more thought into it, and decided on a way to be more polite and clear, she said "No way in Hell, and I'd rather die, thank you."_

_That got the smile off his smug face, but that was the only good thing that came from her little outburst._

_"I told you she'd be mad," Jason said knowingly to his mother as she stalked about the kitchen after a rant that dressed down Thalia as the most ungrateful, selfish, disgustingly self-centered creature on the face of the earth._

_"Of course I'm angry Jason," snapped Beryl. "Your sister humiliated our family and ruined our chances to actually recover everything that was lost to us, all because she couldn't smile and just look agreeable for five minutes, just five minutes-"_

_"I meant her," Jason nodded to Thalia who was staring at her mother with basilisk eyes._

_"Oh I don't care," Beryl said, and now her anger dropped to icy contempt as she leaned over the table to glare into Thalia's eyes, matching loathing for loathing. "You listen to me, you stunted, outrageous little bitch… You have no idea what it means to be poor. You have no idea what it means to do anything to survive. I'm trying to save you and your brother from a fate worse than death. You smile and you bear your lot in life like thousands of women before you, or so help me you'll get turned out of the house before I lose it. Do you know what will happen to you then? Men just like that little weasel will pay for you cheaply, and his father too, and you'll only be able to think about long the pittiance they give you will keep you fed before you starve."_

_"Then I'll starve," Thalia snapped. "Or I'll live in the woods like I always said, and live off the land-"_

_"Or be eaten by a wolf or a bear," snapped Beryl, nonplussed by Thalia defiance. "It's time for you to grow up. You're a woman now and this is how we seize our corner of the world."_

_"Thousands of women before me had to put up with lesser men," Thalia cried out, "but I'm not going to be one-in-a-thousand, and I'm not going to be you!" And she ran from the house, ignoring Jason's pleas and Beryl's mocking laughter._

_"You already are me! You think I wasn't like you? Are you really that naive?!" Beryl shouted. "Are you?!"_

_'The woods,' Thalia thought to herself, 'they'll keep me safe.' But that was a child's whimsy, the same vain hope that a blanket covering her face made mysterious monsters lurking in the dark under the bed forget she existed. Then another thought crossed her mind, 'Luke'._

_It wasn't as childish a thought, but it was only temporarily as comforting. Instead of impenetrable blankets she was imagining a knight on a white horse, and that wasn't for Thalia either; she'd ride her own white steed to her own castle. Luke had no money or horses, her dalliance with him was just dalliance of spring love, that second-cousin to lust, 'infatuation'. It wasn't practical and it wasn't safe to think he'd rescue her from anything._

_But that made her sound just like her mother, telling her to be practical and marry a rat-faced bastard she was sure she would hate, get fat with his squalling children who'd tear her open to come out splotchy and bawling endlessly, leaving her with humiliation until a particularly persistent birthing fever killed her or she drowned slowly in a river of wine like her mother. No. No, and never._

_So she refused to go back to that wretched house, but instead waited in the woods under crescent moon until Luke or her faerie-godmother came to her aid._

_There was no faerie-godmother in her story, Luke was the only one who arrived._

_"What's the matter?" he asked, when she launched herself at him and embraced him with untoward desperation. "Not that I'm complaining-"_

_"My mother," Thalia said, with her face buried in his shoulder so that she wouldn't show him that she had been crying. "She's arranged for me to get married."_

_"Oh." Luke was silent for a good long while after that, only responded by holding her tighter. As tightly as she would let him hold her, for as long as she could stand it._

_She would've let him hold her forever in that moment, but for one thing; she hadn't said goodbye to Jason. "I don't know what I'm going to do."_

_"What we're going to do," Luke corrected. "Your mother has some money left over, right?"_

_"She must..?" Thalia frowned. "But not enough if she's selling me off so she and Jason can have a future-" it was wrong to lump Jason in with her mother, he didn't have any say in this._

_"Then that's what we'll do," Luke nodded. "Tell your mother you're sorry and that you see what she's saying, after spending a night in the woods cold and hungry you realized you have no idea what it's like to be poor… and before the wedding after you load up on free food and take some gifts for the road, you and me can start a life together somewhere far away they won't find us."_

_"I'm not a thief," Thalia muttered, though that did sound like the start of a good idea._

_"No one is until they're desperate," Luke remarked with a bitterness that took Thalia by surprise. And then she felt guilt for not realizing that Luke was right, and so was her mother. She didn't know what being poor could bring out in a person._

_"I'm starting to feel desperate," Thalia admitted._

_"Well I'll be sure to keep you warm for the night," Luke said suggestively, "but I can't do anything about missing dinner, so you'll have to be convincing when you go back to that ogress if you want her to feed you."_

_"What are we going to do for the whole night?" Thalia asked, sensing that she'd like the answer._

_"Whole night?" Luke thought about it. "Well I guess we could talk about the weather after fifteen minutes, or ten."_

_Thalia laughed and pulled him closer, and he kissed her softly and whispered her name like she was a goddess._

_The rest was only witnessed by the moon, until a cloud in the night sky obstructed it's view as if to give the lovers some needed privacy._

"That cloud is most decent," remarked Hazel.

"Not all clouds are scoundrels," said Frank with a wink.

"And this boy from the woods," said Hazel, this time more suspiciously, "is very smooth."

Frank's smile dimmed considerably. "Yes, he is…"

_The night before the day Thalia was to take the name 'Sloan' she ran back to the woods, carrying a satchel and wearing her wedding dress._

_Her intention was to surprise Luke, and it certainly worked._

_"What are you wearing?" he asked, and it was with anger Thalia wasn't expecting._

_"My dress," Thalia said, blinking. Then, a touch more flirtatious, "I thought, wherever we end up going, might as well put it to use."_

_Luke seemed to think about that, with a skeptical eyebrow raised. At last he sighed. "Thals, that dress is going to be a pain to go through the woods in. It'll get dirty, go through streams and bushes, get caught on every weed and twig, and it's bright white. People looking for you will be able to spot you from, what, ten leagues?"_

_"I thought you'd be happy," Thalia said with resentment normally reserved for her mother. Her mother, who had been so happy for her, Thalia could almost forgive her for setting up a marriage to that ferret Sloan._

_"Even if he's not your second or even third or fourth or fifth choice," Beryl said, haltingly, as she straightened Thalia's dress. "You'll be provided for, in ways I could never manage."_

_"But I won't be happy," Thalia had pointed out. She had played the obedient daughter for months, she could afford some honesty right before she fled into the night._

_"And I'm sorry for that," Beryl admitted, which took Thalia off-guard. "I'd have married you to a prince if I could, but some jumped-up merchant with money is just a prince with less traditions. You'll want for nothing, and no one has died of a broken heart. I have done my job, kept you fed and clothed and warm, to the best I could" Beryl swallowed. "And now you'll stay safe. That's all I want. Happiness… is neither here nor there, you make that yourself."_

_And she kissed Thalia on the cheek._

_Thalia stole a bag from her mother's room right after, filled it with what valuables would be given to her for the wedding. This time, she said goodbye to Jason, which made it that much more real._

_"Be safe," Jason warned her. "I love you."_

_"And I love you," Thalia whispered. "So much. Never forget that… and please, if I could take you with me-"_

_Jason laughed. "What for? I'm not getting married. Why would I run away? But you better hurry."_

_Luke was right, the dress was a romantic, colossal mistake._

_She could barely keep up with him in the thing, hiking the tent-like train above her shins to follow after him as he examined the bounty from what she pilfer from her mother._

_"Thalia, did you look at these before you took them?" Luke asked carefully._

_"Why?" Thalia asked, fearing she had missed something or lost something. "What's wrong?"_

_"Nothing," Luke said, turning to face her with a sad expression. "I'm sorry, this is… it's all wrong. The dress and these," he showed her the inside of her mother's jewelry box, what was set aside to be given at the wedding to adorn a bride. White dress and sunset red diamonds._

_"They're beautiful," Thalia said, marveling at the way the shimmered even with just some starlight to catch in the fractals._

_"Too beautiful," Luke sighed. "They'll be looking for you and you're in a wedding dress and… I'll have to try to fence these Thalia… do you have any idea what that will be like? You didn't bring any coins, I try to pay for anything with these I might as well hang a sign, no, brand the sign for 'thief' right on my forehead."_

_"I'm... I'm sorry," Thalia admitted, "I don't know what I'm doing. This is my first time running away with someone-"_

_"Someone else," Luke nodded, "yeah that's a problem. But nothing I can't fix." And he fixed her a smile and wink in the dark. Something seemed forced about it though. "Do you see that path across the stream?"_

_Thalia turned to where he was pointing. "It's pretty dark."_

_Luke rested his chin on her shoulder. "I'll find the way."_

_Thalia leaned against him, comforted._

_"They'll only be looking for you," he reasoned. "And there's enough for one to live on. I'm doing you a favor, saving you really. You never would be able to handle being desperate, Thalia. And you do look so beautiful."_

_Thalia was about to ask Luke what he was talking about, but no words came out, and each effort to talk was agony; he had slit her throat._

Hazel covered her mouth, eyes wide and tearing up.

Frank didn't have any words of comfort for her, just said "There's more."

_It was clear that the maiden died that night in the woods, though no one found her._

_All that could be found of hers was a bloody veil._

_But that wasn't the end. Some believe that she crawled the banks of the stream as she bled out, and thirstily she drank from water in a wolf's paw-print. Some say she just was so full of impotent rage and heartache that her soul twisted the husk of her body into something… otherworldly and lethal._

_Over the years, people went missing from the woods. No one could say what it was. Eventually, hunters stopped tracking animals that went past the stream where they found the bloody veil. They spoke of monstrous breathing, distorted like it was coming from a gash in a throat, and of a ghost in stained white rags with claws that tore men to pieces._

_But young lovers couldn't be dissuaded. And if the match was ever unfavorable to the parents, maybe they thought they'd take their chances running away through the woods and no one would chase them for fear of the suicide bride. They would learn all about real fear in their final moments, and the lucky ones died clutching one another tightly._

_"We shouldn't be here," said one girl, with uneven braids, dressed in a man's clothing. No worries about brambles getting caught in a train, not for this young girl, no._

_"I don't believe that tripe," said the boy with her, with such conviction that her fears almost completely abated. "Besides, she'd never hurt me."_

_They held hands, and smiled in the light of the new moon, prepared to start their new lives together, just the two of them escaping from a disapproving, overprotective mother-in-law._

_But the romance was lost on the monster; she just saw an impressionable young girl pledging herself to blond man with a scar on his face._

_Blond with a scar on his face a scar on his faceonhisface-!_

_"What was that?" Piper asked, nervous. She had been an outdoor girl all her life, and wasn't easily spooked, but that rattling sounded like a whole pit full of adders slithering over each other. But it came from the trees, not the ground._

_"I don't-?" But that was all he could say. The rest was unspeakable, and the monster was quick with claws and fangs that rent and tore young love to pieces._

_There was no faerie-godmother or knight on a white horse for them._

_No one found Jason, who had grown to a fine young man, or Piper, the girl who caught his eye despite his mother's wishes to keep him close and not lose another child. No one had it in their heart to lie and say they escaped and lived happily ever after somewhere peaceful and quiet._

_And their mother died too, not long after. They say it was the bottle finally catching up to her, but the truth was apparent to anyone who bore witness. _

_It was of a broken heart._


End file.
